Letters to Young Mycroft
by RedHatMeg
Summary: "If you could have a talk with your thirteen year old self – the you from when Eurus killed Victor Trevor – what would you tell him?" Mycroft is asked by Lady Smallwood to write a letter to himself.


**For now it's supposed to be a two-shot, but maybe I will make it longer and add characters other than Mycroft and Lady Smallwood writing letters to teen Mycroft.**

 **Please, leave a comment.**

 **Letter to my past self**

Ever since Sherrinford Alicia was thinking about Mycroft. She was familiar with the whole Eurus situation, after all he explained it very thoroughly when his uncle, Rudyard, passed the responsibility of supervising his sister's imprisonment on him… But Lady Smallwood also knew (partly from reading files on both Mycroft and Eurus; and partly because Antarctica told her few things about himself) that her friend was thirteen when the whole nightmare began.

Mycroft Holmes was thirteen when his brother's best friend went missing and Eurus started to sing a wicked song that was supposed to provide Sherlock with clues. Mycroft was thirteen when people – including his young brother – were frantically looking for Victor everywhere. He was thirteen when Eurus started to call her victim "drowned Redbeard" to indicate little boy's fate. He was thirteen when his sister set Musgrave on fire; when his uncle took her to the asylum; when he learned about her "death" and was entrusted with a horrible secret. He was thirteen when his brother went to shock, started to forget he ever had a sister and replaced Victor with a dog; and when his parents decided (with much persuasion from "Uncle Rudy") that it would be for the best to let him forget. All of this happened when Mycroft was barely a teenager himself, but it forced him to grow up and become a man he was now. It was truly a tragedy.

Lady Smallwood was thinking about this tragedy ever since Mycroft came back from Sherrinford. When all the evaluations, investigations and interviews were over; when they were done with all the unpleasant and hurtful procedures, and when Mycroft was suspended in his duties and sent on therapy, Alicia couldn't shake the impression that he was feeling guilty. He certainly was ready for any consequences regarding letting Eurus and Moriarty to talk unsupervised. And certainly the meeting with his parents didn't help him feel any less blameworthy. Seeing him in this state – after all the horrible things that happened to him – made Alicia think about when it all started.

She tried to imagine him back then. This teenager, who was all too well aware of his little sister's wickedness. This young man who barely hit puberty and had to watch his family falling apart. Was he scared? Probably. Overwhelmed? Maybe. Guilty for not doing enough to prevent the tragedy? Absolutely. This was the root of his overbearing protectiveness over his younger brother. This was the reason he wanted to be in control so much. This was the event that made him the Iceman. And Alicia had a sneaking suspicion that deep down in the basement of Mycroft's Mind Palace there was still this thirteen year old boy, scared and helpless. And since the latest events Mycroft had to feel like this boy more often than not.

"Say, mister Holmes," Lady Smallwood started during the lunch one day, immediately getting the man's attention. "if you could talk with your younger self, what would you tell him?"

He raised his eyebrow, before coming back to his salad. For a couple of seconds he wasn't saying anything, but when he finally did, he sounded very methodical:

"Well, it depends on which stage of my life we are talking about. For sure my thirty year old self could use some advice about dealing with Middle East and United States. And me from collage could be reminded that couple of faculties would be useful in my future line of work."

"How about you in your teens?" Alicia asked, giving him a light smile.

He looked at her again and put the cutlery down. For a moment he only observed her carefully. Alicia knew he was examining her, trying to determine the reason behind her odd behavior.

"What brought this?" He finally gave a response. "Is there a reason you entertain yourself with thought experiment like this, Lady Smallwood?"

"I'm just curious." She grinned again. Well, part of her statement was truth. "Is there anything you would like to tell your teenage self? Some truths you've learned as an adult?"

"I don't think so." He said, going back to his lunch and not gazing at his interlocutor. "Teenage me was already almost too aware of how the world works. Besides," He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "children and teenagers are so annoying…" He added, rolling his eyes. "I would probably look at myself with embarrassment, wondering how could I be such an idiot."

He said it in such a way that Alicia saddened. She suspected that there had to be things he loathed about himself during that time. She had seen photographs of him from his school years. An overweight youngster with above average IQ was probably not very popular with other kids. Not to mention that children can be cruel.

"I, on the other hand, would gladly meet that young man." She said. Mycroft looked at her, quirking his eyebrow. She went on: "I'm sure it would be a very interesting experience, giving that I would be able to see great Mycroft Holmes as a youngster. And I would be happy to tell him couple of things too."

Another moment of silence, as Mycroft was observing her with steady hands over his salad. Then he gave her a wry smile.

"Like what, for example?"

"Like, for example, that he shouldn't think that everything is his fault." She replied, her expression still somber.

Mycroft looked at her for the third time and then a flick of understanding crossed his face.

"Oh…" He said, watching her. "So that's what this is about." He straightened himself on his seat and took another bite of his lunch. He resumed to his normal neutral tone. "I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, Lady Smallwood, that I'm fine."

Alicia decided to get to the point of this whole conversation.

"Would you be so kind and indulge me, mister Holmes?"

He gave a soft sigh and put the cutlery down.

"In what way, Lady Smallwood?" He asked, resignation clear in his voice.

"If you could have a talk with your thirteen year old self – the you from when Eurus killed Victor Trevor – what would you tell him?"

Mycroft was silent for a moment. Alicia felt almost bad for bringing this up, especially because he had to think about this a lot, lately. But she believed that this was important, if Antarctica was ever going to get some kind of closure from this horrible experience. He had to see things in different way.

Of course, there was a slight possibility that he will refuse. After all, from his point of view this might have been a ridiculous request.

Then again, she could always tell him that's an order.

"I can't respond right away." He finally said, leaning towards her. "I would need some time to think this through."

She gave him a reassuring smile.

"Then I have an idea." She began. "How about you will write a letter?"

"A letter?" He raised his eyebrows.

"A letter to your thirteen year old self. A form of homework, if you'd liked to see it like that."

"And when I would have to give it to you?" He asked with a smirk.

"Say… in a week." She replied. "I think it would be enough time for you."

He was watching her, probably contemplating this idea. Eventually he gave her an answer:

"Well then, I would do it. _But_ ," He raised his finger. "under one condition."

"Yes?" Alicia asked.

"It will be destroyed right after you will read it. You and I know that it would be really embarrassing if anyone got a hold of it."

"I understand." She said.

Since everything was settled, they went back to eating lunch and talking about politics. But some part of Alicia already couldn't wait for the end of this week.

* * *

Of course, nothing is simple in the life of Mycroft Holmes. Not when you have whole country to run, and family drama that is far beyond what normal people have to deal with. And, to be fair, he wasn't very eager to sit down and write a letter to himself, considering that the whole idea seemed ridiculous and involved emotions he didn't want to feel nor think about.

So he was postponing his "homework", always finding something more urgent, more important to do; and he thought that he still had a time to meet Lady Smallwood's request. He only needed a moment on his own to gather his thoughts and word them accordingly. But whenever he actually had moment for himself, he much rather preferred to entertain himself with his usual habits.

And so it happened one evening, when he was alone in his office, that he realized the deadline for his "homework" was due to the next day and he didn't even start writing the letter. For a moment he was wondering why he even had to do this. It's not like it will ever reach his past self. It would serve no purpose, beside reminding him of who he was back then, and he hated himself from that time. He hated that fatso, who was blind, and foolish, and not effective enough to…

And when he was sitting there at his desk, he saw it. Standing in front of him was a thirteen year old, overweight boy in yellow jumper, jeans and overshoes. He had short, dark hair and chubby cheeks, and he was looking at Mycroft with a sad expression like he was just scolded.

The government official was observing this apparition, this obvious figment of his imagination, and then he spoke:

"Oh, this is ridiculous. Get out." He even shooed it with his hand.

He was glad that there was nobody near his office who could hear him saying something to imaginary teen. People already thought he wasn't in his right mind.

But maybe he _was_ insane, because the boy was still standing there; still observing him with those sad, hurt eyes. And the more Mycroft was looking at them, the more he felt uneasy. Because those eyes were pleading him… but for what? What this phantom wanted from him? What was his mind telling him by bringing this image here and now?

 _If you could have a talk with your thirteen year old self – the you from when Eurus killed Victor Trevor – what would you tell him?_

"I have nothing to say to you." He whispered. "Go away."

Those eyes, filled with despair and helplessness… Those eyes that had seen how one death started a chain of tragedies that almost broke apart his family… Mycroft clenched his fists as a wave of bad memories washed over him. He remembered perfectly how he was this boy in front of him. And alongside with it, he remembered all the feelings he felt towards himself back then.

He opened a drawer in his desk and drew out a piece of paper and a pen. He glanced at the apparition, who was still there, looking at him with those eyes. And then, finally, he wrote down:

 _Dear Thirteen Year Old Me,_

 _You are pathetic._

 _But you probably know that. We both know that. You've had ONE job – look after your siblings and little Victor – and you failed so miserably, I'm still embarrassed by you. You failed to provide evidence that Eurus could be dangerous, you failed to make her talk, you even failed at consoling your brother when everything was over._

 _You were supposed to be the smart one. You were supposed to possess remarkable intellect. So where was it in such a crucial moment? Why haven't you worked out the song? Why haven't you tried to steer your parents towards the right conclusion regarding Eurus' condition? Why haven't you noticed the way she was looking at Victor Trevor? You knew that Eurus was up to no good and would probably kill someone one day. Why haven't you been more vigilant?_

The emotions crawling inside of him made Mycroft stop writing. He looked once again at the space in front to of him. This brat was still there, and still observed him with those sad eyes. Mycroft pursed his lips and came back to the letter.

 _Oh, look at you – a pathetic, fat brat, who can't do anything right!_

 _What are you going to do now? You're going to cry over your lost innocence? Maybe that's the problem – your tender little heart. You're too soft for this world, too idealist to do what's necessary. You still believe that your sister will get better? Sorry to disappoint you, but she will not. She will only get worse and worse, leaving only blood and ashes after herself._

He sniffed and quickly wiped his eyes that threatened to get teary.

 _Deep down you knew it all along: you can't help her. Still you will be trying like a fool you are. You will be coming to her cell in Sherrinford every once in a while, giving her presents, talking to her in futile attempt to make some kind of connection, before you will finally realize what you should realize long time ago: She WILL stay insane. She WILL hurt people. She WILL make your life hell. And you can only make sure that she won't escape. Which you'll screw up either way, because you're a damn fool._

Mycroft took a deep breath and aggressively blinked couple of times to banish potential tears. When he glanced at the boy, he was still standing there. Just as Mycroft expected – two streams were running down the apparition's cheeks. He could feel its guilt and helplessness, and fear, and the wish that he would stop throwing all those harsh words; stop telling the kid what he already knew…

For a moment Mycroft was just observing his younger self, not knowing what to write next. The boy was shaking and sobbing, and for a moment the man felt pity for him. The boy seemed so small and lost… Like he was going to fall apart…

Mycroft returned to the writing.

 _You will realize soon enough that if you want to survive in this world and save everybody else, you have to get over yourself and be better – smarter, stronger and well ahead of your opponents. You will also realize (maybe even already did) that caring is not in advantage…_

He stopped, when a question crossed his mind: _What about Sherlock?_ And he realized that if he told it his younger self; if this was an actual advice he would give to himself, he might have grown up to not care about whenever his little brother live or die. And this thought made Mycroft shudder.

 _But you and I know, you can't stop caring. No matter how many sorrow or heartache it will cost you, you won't stop caring about Sherlock, Eurus, Mummy or Daddy._

 _Maybe that's good. Maybe that's a sign that you and Eurus are different; that there's some good in you, after all. Not that many people will appreciate it. Certainly not the ones that count, anyway. And you will soon find out that even your best efforts aren't enough. You know the old saying: Hell is paved with good intentions. You will often find yourself doing something bad to do something good; and it will backfire horribly…_

The memory of confrontation not so long time ago was still fresh in his mind. Yes, that attempt at kindness backfired. Then again, he also failed at making Eurus stay in Sherrinford, so the truth came out and everything went to hell either way.

Mycroft looked up from the piece of paper and – to his surprise – saw the thirteen year old self not far away, but right at his desk, chubby arms leaning on the wood and watching him. For a moment the man was staring into those glassy eyes and felt a weird urge to tell the teen in front of him that everything will be okay – that his family will get back up; that Sherlock will grow up to be happy; that Eurus will get better; that he himself will be alright.

He knew it would be a lie… But he wished someone would tell him this back then, when he was watching his family falling apart; when he was lying to them about Eurus being dead and when he was trying to somehow pull himself together for the sake of his little brother. It was a silly wish, almost childish one… But wasn't he a child back then?

He turned his eyes away from the ghost in front of him and looked at the letter. Maybe it was a time to finish it.

 _The only consolation I can give to you is that you will grow stronger and smarter. You will achieve great things and will save Sherlock from himself countless times. It won't be easy and you will often find yourself overwhelmed and in need of making harsh decisions, but it will be worth it._

 _But then again, we both know that life is pain, nothing is ever easy, and happiness is nigh impossible to achieve._

There was only the matter of how he should end the letter. How ones end the letter to his former self? He never did that before so he didn't know, especially because it was an unusual thing to do. He thought about it for couple of minutes, before he settled for:

 _Sincerely,_

 _Your Future Self._

Mycroft folded the letter and hid it in the jacket of his suit. Once he glanced at the space in front of him, he realized that the apparition of his thirteen year old self disappeared.


End file.
